


La Belle Dame sans Merci

by vieralynn (sarasa_cat)



Series: Postcards from Kirkwall [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bittersweet, Depression, F/M, First Love, Loss, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasa_cat/pseuds/vieralynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greagoir had thought well of Surana and, with Surana in Cullen’s life, the young man grew less moody, less argumentative, and more to Greagoir’s liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Belle Dame sans Merci

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dragon Age Kiss Battle on Dreamwidth prompt "La Belle Dame sans Merci." Story is inspired by John Keats' poem of the same name.

On the evening that Enchanter Surana left the tower as a Grey Warden recruit, Cullen sat beside his brethren at the dinner table, sad eyes unfocused. He ignored his evening meal. Greagoir glanced at the young man from time to time, but chose to say nothing to him. The matter with Surana had been settled. Her life was no longer in the Circle’s hands.

Greagoir assured himself that it was all for the best, despite all of his arguing with Irving.

His first argument happened shortly after Duncan’s arrival, when Irving brought Duncan to meet him. Irving proposed the most preposterous idea: newly made enchanters should be sent to fight in the King’s army. Ridiculous! Greagoir flatly refused. No enchanter leaves the Circle until they’ve shown they can be trusted. Furthermore, the Circle had spared every mage and templar that it could. There was no need to send recently harrowed mages, especially when libertarians vied to lead the mage’s army. Sending recently harrowed mages would only bring trouble. New enchanters were unmanageable. Each and every one was puffed up by their first important accomplishment. They abused their newly gained privileges and their wanderlust was insatiable. A recently harrowed mage should be put to work in the Circle immediately, not sent off to wander army camps, where they would duck out of their tent in the middle of the night just to prove that they can evade a templar’s watchful eye. No. Greagoir’s answer was no.

The second argument occurred a few hours later when Irving pulled Greagoir aside. Irving wanted Enchanter Surana to join the mages heading to Ostagar. No, Greagoir told him, and it mattered not whether Wynne could be tasked with keeping an eye on Surana. No. Of all the mages in the tower, not Enchanter Surana. No. She already had responsibilities assigned to her that would begin the following morning. And, for the love of the Maker and all things holy, Surana was one of few mages her age who had proven to be honest and trustworthy. Her sense of trust should be cultivated like an orchid. She was one of few who had shown potential for the Circle mage’s leadership, which was why discipline, not wanton freedom, was needed. No.

Greagoir thought the matter was over when Irving shrugged and walked away, but their third and final argument occurred after two of Greagoir’s templars had been injured, a Chantry sister had been shamed, and one wholly irresponsible, erratic apprentice had escaped the tower. Greagoir knew he had been played. Check, check, and now he stood one move from being checkmated. What choice did he have? Send Enchanter Surana into the horrors of Aeonar? Allow her to stay in the Circle while brushing all she had done under the rug? She had broken the Circle’s most sacred rules at Irving’s request. No. Greagoir had no good choice. The game was done. Checkmate. He let her go.

 

 

Irving breaks the Circle’s rules. Greagoir bends them. After Enchanter Surana was sent to her room to pack, Greagoir intercepted Cullen when the young man ran down the hall in a clattering rush.

“What was all the commotion?” Cullen blurted out, ignoring protocol.

“The situation is being handled,” Greagoir said.

“But— But—”

“I said the situation is being handled.” Greagoir glared until the young templar backed down. “Go to the second floor,” he commanded. “See that Enchanter Surana finishes packing before the afternoon is over.”

 

 

The sun had already started to set when Enchanter Surana was ready to leave. Cullen trailed three paces behind her, his eyes lost, his face pale. Shiny spots of berry-stained beeswax graced the young templar’s cheeks, matching the crimson lipgloss Surana wore.

There was nothing more Greagoir could do in this matter, but at least Cullen would not resent him for Surana’s fate.

 

 

Greagoir said nothing as Cullen pushed his meat and peas across his plate, hardly eating any of it. Nothing in the Circle is guaranteed, not for a templar, and definitely not for a mage. Greagoir had thought well of Surana. The young woman had been a model apprentice. She took her studies seriously, and volunteered her time to work in the library. If she broke curfew, it was never to steal, to run off, or to involve herself in a dangerous prank. On nights that Greagoir found Surana up and out beyond the twenty-second hour, she was always found in the library, finishing her chores while chatting with Cullen. As the tower’s Knight Commander, Greagoir would remind Surana that it was her responsibility to heed her curfew. He would wait as she hurried to shelve whatever book she held in her hand. Then Greagoir would command Cullen to escort her to her dorm and return to the templar’s quarters straight away.

 

 

A good Knight Commander manages all of his charges, mages and templars alike. He learns how to motivate them, and how to make them most productive.

When Cullen came to the Circle, he did so with a heavy heart. As a young boy, he was orphaned after his apostate mother could no longer care for him. And whereas most of the recruits wanted to become soldiers, Cullen only wanted to be a knight. He did not read the Chant as holy writ, but as sacred poems whose secrets must be unlocked. He pondered a single verse for days before moving on to the next. Other recruits thought him absentminded, but Greagoir saw Cullen for what he was. The young man was a thinker. Not an intellectual who thought for sport, but a spiritual-minded theorist who sought comfort when knowing that his questions had been answer.

As for Surana, Greagoir had never been bothered by her friendship with Cullen. Oh, yes, the young man had been besotted by her elven beauty, enchanted by hints of wickedness in her smile. But the elf was a devout Andrastian, not a creature of the forest wilds. Still, she inspired Cullen to pen poems late at night. With Surana in Cullen’s life, the young man grew less moody, less argumentative, and more to Greagoir’s liking. Surana motivated Cullen to perform his daily duties from morning to night. As long as the two of them remained loyal to the Circle, Greagoir saw no reason to complain. Surana held favorable views of the templars who led honorable lives. It was always best that a promising mage felt loyalty toward the Templar Order and the Chantry than go off and join the blighted Libertarians. But for as much benefit Greagoir saw in Cullen’s friendship with this mage, Irving thoroughly disapproved.

And now the matter was done and the young enchanter gone. The lovesick knight loitered in the dining hall after his brethren left, a gloomy pallor cast over him. He shuffled his feet as poems smoldered in the fire. All his dreams dashed, all his hope gone.


End file.
